


am i the boy you dreamed? oh, living in your subconscious

by londondungeon2



Category: Solar Opposites
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drugs, Light Angst, M/M, Morning After, Rough Kissing, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londondungeon2/pseuds/londondungeon2
Summary: Korvo definitely radiates birch vibes, Don't dare tell Terry different - he will cry.
Relationships: Korvo/Terry, Korvotron "Korvo"/Terry (Solar Opposites)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90





	am i the boy you dreamed? oh, living in your subconscious

“If we were to die right now, with no bi-b-biblical implications either, I think you would turn into a birch tree. You - I think you have more of a birch personality. You’re a birch, Korvo.” Terry says, spooning more milky Lucky Charms (only the lime-green hat and pink horseshoe marshmallows though) into his mouth. He is drunk, or high. Korvo surmises a mix of both.

The clock reads midnight. The dust-blue Shlorpian knows deep down he should just leave Terry here to pass out in the ground he has engulfed in fun-dip sugar - to finally taste something with his feet, he reasons - in his icy jorts. Up rickety stairs, to the bedroom, he should continue his nightly manual-readings. But for some irksome reason, the nasally snores put his mind at eases while reading. When no ghost wails ascend from the hallway, ghost wails descend and Korvo checks the Manc-Ave for his friend. He finds him here in the kitchen, slipping in the discovery.

To him, it is curious how many of Terry’s pestilent habits become a fond normalcy. If there is a lack of noises - loud slurps of milkshakes till the plastic collapses in and screams of Avril Lavinge lyrics from the bathroom disappear - Krovo is the first to notice. 

“That’s great, Terry. Thanks for the insight.” Krovo stands, arms akimbo, against the sink. He knows it will be difficult to drag Terry from the adherent flooring, so he will have to use persuasion. “Now, come up to bed.” He never hints at being good at it, though.

 _“Nooooo,_ ” Terry whines, milk dribbling down his chin. “Stay up with me! We can, um, make mac and cheese.” The Shlorpian moves suddenly - bare feet collecting speckles of blue raspberry sand. One of the replicants will vacuum it. From a cabinet, he wrenches out a pot, limbs slightly shaky. He plops it down with himself.

From the ground, Terry looks up. His eyes are lustrous like the curves of his various tourist snowglobes - never quite a local at heart. They hold a magnitude like Korvo has to agree with them (Jesse often does the same thing) or else he will stop breathing. 

He has seen those same exact eyes before when his spine felt like millions of broken shards.

Korvo licks at the centipede lining of his teeth and tries to gauge where he is. He has been swinging in and out of daydreams, like waves lapping at his mind. Chemically sourness burns his bottom lip. Rolling over in the finite casket of grass, he gazes up at the contours and face of the figure above him. The eyes struck him to his concave apple core.

Three epiphanies arrive in his mind; two acute angles meeting in a corner, penciled silver words - ‘dumb ray’ - and a towering stack of papers labeled T3D. He barely has time to connect the stepping-stone before they wash down a stream. Something hits his cheek, sparking a pink pain. 

“Put these on,” Terry orders. 

Lacking any backbone, his whole body feels like squishing, disgusting Jello, he slides whatever was thrown at him over his eyes. He realizes they are sunglasses, vision darkening - made of clunking plastic and the eye-holes as the balls of a phallus. 

“This is going on my Snapchat story.” A flash blinds him, gray spots waltzing over his eyes. His dazed face pinches into a wink. One of his senses knocked down, he picks up a sentence not meant for his ears - volatile yet saccharine in the sibylline words. “You look like a mistake - cute, though.” End of memory.

Korvo glances down at the pot, flourishing in front of him. Inside the steel is cereal flakes rather than mac and cheese - the idea has probably fluttered out of Terry’s mind, wrapped in the cotton state of a high. Shlorp has - well, had - a saying after all: _if you can’t beat them, then destroy yourself, you worthless defective_ . Though, Korvo does not fancy being a birch anytime soon, so rather he outstretches his tired hand with an inkling of resistance. Armed with a bowl of cereal, with _few_ marshmallows, he sits criss-crossed in pink sand. 

“Th-This is good. This is _great!_ ” Terry glances, as if the greatness of the moment has tangibly filled the atmosphere. He happily spoons in a slippery mess of sugar in his mouth, humming. “We should do this more often.” A wave of his silverwave. White droplets land on Korvo’s robe and he simply stares down.

“It’s splendid.” Korvo stirs the saturated clumps of wheat. Quietly, he watches as Terry happily munch on his too-early breakfast, feet curling into the rainbow shore. After a few spoonfuls: “Can we go to bed now?”

“But you still haven’t eaten your mac and cheese.” Oh, so he is under the impression they are eating that food - makes sense due to his maudlin state. Seeing the round tears grow in his eyes, Korvo shoves some of the pot’s innards into his mouth. “It’s good, right?”

His eyes go to the sugar encrusting his pants and robe like a second freckly skin. He reminds himself that the replicants will vacuum it. Refusing to say an insult, his mouth spews out - trying to be earnest -“It’s the best I’ve ever eaten.” To demonstrate, he shovels in a swallow to watch Terry's face flood with joy. Satisfaction burns his skin, comforting fire, like a million of insectual wings.

Often, they don’t eat much together (Terry begs often with clasping hands that they should start eating like family, assimilating into human society even after Korvo’s strict deterrents) and the last time was during the wedding scene of _Mamma Mia_ , both content switching between their tubes of ice creams. Laid upside, skull grazing the carpet, Terry swings himself up at the part where the bride and groom kiss. “Hey, we should get married. Are we married? Marriage sounds lit.”

Korvo, wide-eyed and through a mouthful of cookies-and-cream, lets out a malice growl. _“Terry.”_ It is the standard warning to not continue that thought.

“Where’s my ring, Korvo?” A body flips and pounces, seizing said individual by his rigid shoulders. There is an explosion of motions. Korvo fluctuates, iron hands shaking him back and forth with maddening rapidity. Not-serious threats are made. Over the commotion, there is a shout - clear and slicing. _“Where’s my ring, Korvo!”_ End of memory.

“Alright!” He beams at the complement of his master culinary skills. “Also, I wasn’t kidding about the birch thing. The vibes you radiate are definitely birch. If-if I cut your throat with a piano wire, boom, birch tree.” Terry holds up a fist before exploding his fingers out, gesturing with wonder.

“I hope they ground up your corpse and print Fifty Shades of Grey on you.”

“Listen, _Korvo!_ , listen. If I had the quote “ I pull him deeper into my mouth so I can feel him at the back of my throat and then to the front again” not a single part of me would complain. Besides, I’m a spruce so you can’t really print on that hardwood as well. It jams printers. You know what else I can jam-” Terry is cut off.

Korvo kisses him so fast that poisonous teeth accidentally click together. Yet, he would die happily and heavenly from an overdose of arsenic as long as his spindly limbs are entangled with Terry’s, flesh or branch. A spasm of confusion is quickly swallowed and Terry, arms clutching the robe, kisses back. _He won't remember this, he won't remember this_ , Korvo assures himself - presses into the sugared embrace. It is an unspoken prayer that he doesn’t. So, acting like tomorrow he will sprout birch limbs, Korvo kisses Terry.

Pulling away, Korvo watches as Terry touches his lips - gingerly with two fingers, an instructable gleam in his glassy eyes. “Come to bed with me.”

A deep heat rises up to Terry’s cheeks, melting out the mind of cotton swabs; “Um, _okay._ ”

They leave their milky cereal in the fun-dip beach but it is okay. One of the replicants will vacuum it.

**Author's Note:**

> Terry really be thinking he going to get the sex but Korvo just wants to read rip,, wrote this in one day and just decided to send it out in the world. Going to have more coming!


End file.
